


It's All In The Swoop

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus with a Hair Swoop, Draco and Albus bonding, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Family Feels, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Next Generation, M/M, albus gets a haircut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: When Albus gets a haircut he doesn't expect it to change anything; not his opinions of himself or his relationship with Scorpius's dad. Of course, things in Albus's life rarely go as expected.





	It's All In The Swoop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aibidil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/gifts).



> Thank you so much carpemermaidtales for the insanely fast beta. This is for aibidil who graced the world with the idea of Albus having a hair swoop and its the greatest thing I never knew I needed. I hope you like this, Aib. <3

It’d been exactly three weeks since Albus had finally taken James’s advice and allowed him to take him to a real salon. Albus wasn’t even sure why James knew anything about where to get a decent haircut, since he was pretty sure their mum still cut James’s hair and it wasn’t like Teddy ever needed a haircut. 

But after months of James not-so-subtly hinting he had an idea about what to do with Albus’s hair that might make him look less like their dad, a fact which had been solidified when some fucking nutjob in Diagon Alley had thought he was his dad and actually grabbed his arse from behind, well Albus had had enough. 

He’d Flooed straight to Teddy and James’s flat and said, “Fine, where are we going for this bloody haircut?” 

James hadn’t even lifted his head from where it rested in Teddy’s lap. He’d just smiled, his eyes shut as he purred like a fucking kneazle while Teddy’s fingers stroked through his hair and said, “I knew you’d see the light, baby brother.”

Which was exactly how he ended up at an overpriced barber in London, sitting on some ridiculously posh chair that went up and down when the hairdresser stepped on the pedal. And, alright,  _ maybe  _ it wasn’t all as horrible as he’d thought. The woman who did his hair was a Muggle and chatted a mile a minute about inane things like the weather and how lovely his eyes were. But she had a soothing voice and her long nails had Albus fighting back a whimper as she dug them deep into his scalp and washed his hair. Although as good as that felt, all it’d done was make Albus want to rush home and tell Scorpius he had a new idea for something they should do in the bath together that night — something that would definitely involve rubbing heads, though of a different kind than they usually did while naked.

Albus had tried the entire time to relax and ignore the fear that when this was done he’d look like even more of a prat than he had before. The only consolation in all of it had been Scorpius’s crooked smile as he’d kissed him on the cheek and reminded him that he thought he was the best looking Potter no matter what kind of hair he ended up with. Fuck, but Albus loved him.

When the hairdresser had finally spun the chair around nearly an hour later, Albus made a choking noise in the back of his throat upon the sight of himself in the oversize mirror in front of him. Unconsciously he tugged his long sleeves down, feeling the ridiculous urge to hide nearly overwhelming. 

He looked different. He looked less like just a Potter and more like just Albus.

He looked good.

He’d secretly wondered how she could be a Muggle when whatever she’d done to his hair surely had to have involved some kind of magic. It was trimmed shorter around the back and sides near his ears, but the usual fullness that always gathered on top had been transformed from a mass of tangled strands into something that looked soft and thick and swooped attractively across his forehead seemingly defying gravity. It took Albus a moment to remember it was his own fucking hair and he didn't need to resist the urge to touch it.

“Do you like it?” she asked, looking nearly giddy.

“S’brilliant,” he whispered, wondering how he’d gone his entire life not realising what it felt like to look in the mirror and like what you saw.

His self-confidence had been bolstered enough he didn’t even duck his head when he stepped through the Floo into his and Scorpius’s new flat — the same giddy excitement at it being theirs washing over him the way it had every day for the last month since they’d gotten it.    
Scorpius was sitting on the sofa and instead of ducking his head shyly, Albus gave him an almost bold smile, opening his mouth to ask what Scorpius thought but that proved to be unnecessary because Scorpius was already across the room, his cheeks flushed pink as his fingers twitched.

“Your hair. Your hair is so... _ fuck _ , can I touch it?” Scorpius had looked beside himself and Albus’s stomach had plummeted in fear that he didn’t like it. Except then Scorpius actually whimpered —  _ whimpered _ _!_ —  and, not waiting for an answer, Scorpius shoved his warm fingers into Albus’s hair, the pad of his thumb gliding across Albus’s forehead. “It’s soft and so fluffy. Merlin,” Scorpius huffed. 

It took Albus a moment to realise Scorpius’s inability to say more wasn’t because he disliked it, but rather the opposite. Scorpius wasn’t lost for words often and the knowledge that looking at  _ him  _ was making Scorpius short for words made something in Albus’s brain feel wonky and wild and before Scorpius could finish asking if he was sure the hairdresser didn’t have magic, Albus was grabbing hold of Scorpius’s waist and dragging him back down the corridor, swallowing down the rest of Scorpius’s words as he kissed him.

Scorpius spent the next half hour unwilling to take his hands out of Albus’s hair as he kissed him just as desperately, groaning _ “Vanish your fucking clothes, Al,” _ and attaching his lips to the side of Albus’s throat. The only downside was that later, Albus both felt and looked like he’d been fucked within an inch of his life, which normally wasn’t a problem except that later that night as he was brushing his teeth, staring at the red mark blossoming on his collarbone and the ridiculous way his hair was currently not swooping nicely that it occurred to Albus he didn’t have a fucking clue how to make it look good again.

 

***~*~*~***

 

“Fucking fuck,” Albus cursed, twisting his fingers in the strands of hair above his forehead and wondering why they absolutely refused to swoop. 

Over the last few weeks, he’d tried everything to put his hair in order. Every hair care spell he could find, every fucking hair product James foisted on him and even a few Muggle ones he’d bought himself with the help of an overexcited Lily in tow. Nothing worked. No matter what Albus did, his hair would not fucking swoop and he was about ready to lose his mind. Before the haircut he’d thought he’d been fine having ridiculous hair, but the truth was getting a glimpse of what he could look like had made Albus unable to ignore it any longer. He didn’t want to be a vain prat, but there was something undeniably powerful in the way he’d felt that first day, the way it’d felt to like how he looked and to feel more like him and less like who he could never be. 

Albus wanted to hate James for giving him a fleeting glimpse of what it must feel like to have self-confidence, but he couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t James’s fault his hair was as wild and untamable as their dad’s. However, he refused to make it to the ripe old age of forty-four like his dad and still have this fucking mop atop his head. His dad may have resigned himself to a life of this hair, but Albus hadn’t. He wouldn’t do it! He growled at his reflection, patting it down angrily as if that might tame the hair into submission. Instead, they seemed determined to fly in all directions like a fucking wild dragon. Fucking Potter hair.

“Hello,” a familiar voice called from the living room and Albus dropped the comb in his other hand in surprise. 

“Just a second, Mr. Malfoy!” he yelled. He gave one last sad look at his himself and sighed, not exactly excited to greet Scorpius’s dad while wearing Scorpius’s pyjamas and with his hair giving off every indication of just what he and Scorpius had gotten up to this morning before Scorpius had taken off for Healer training this morning. 

“Hello Albus,” Mr. Malfoy greeted politely as he walked into the room. He was sat in the green armchair near the fireplace, the one he’d given them the day they’d moved in together. Scorpius had jokingly said his dad only did it so he could sit in it when he visited which had turned out to be surprisingly accurate.

“Scorpius isn't here,” Albus answered automatically, shrugging his shoulders and shoving his hands into his pockets. He loved pyjama bottoms with pockets.

Mr. Malfoy smiled. “I didn’t come to see Scorpius.”

Albus’s stomach flipped in discomfort. Mr. Malfoy rarely came over to their flat, and definitely never to see  _ him _ . Albus knew it was ridiculous to feel nervous; he’d known Scorpius’s dad since he was eleven. But the older man had always been a bit of an enigma to Albus. He’d grown up hearing stories of the Malfoys, knew exactly how his own dad and Scorpius’s dad had behaved at school. And yet everything he’d ever heard had felt as if it stood in complete opposition to the father Albus knew him to be. Certainly, in public Mr. Malfoy was more reserved, more dignified and aware of the eyes that were always upon him. But in the moments Albus had witnessed him alone with Scorpius, when he’d been unaware there were eyes upon him, well Mr. Malfoy had seemed kind and gentle. Then there were the stories Scorpius had told him of his father like him on the floor letting Scorpius ride on his back, or curled up in bed with him reading him fairy stories until he fell asleep. Or the way Scorpius had fallen into his father's arms sobbing the day he’d told him he was gay, and the way Scorpius said his dad had hugged him and cried with him, telling him that no matter who Scorpius was he would always be Draco’s greatest pride and joy. So Albus knew Mr. Malfoy was more than he appeared, more than the collected and dignified man he presented himself to be in public.

The thing was, even though Albus knew Mr. Malfoy possessed these other traits, it was one thing to know and another thing to see them. It was entirely different to face the reality of how unsure Albus felt about how to behave around him. 

Scorpius was always around, facilitating their conversations and buffering Albus’s insecurities about what Mr. Malfoy thought of  _ him _ . He desperately wanted Mr. Malfoy to approve of him if only because he knew that besides himself, his own father was the most important person in the world to Scorpius. Albus loved his parents but he wasn’t sure he could ever quite understand the closeness Scorpius shared with his own father. Maybe it was part of being an only child or having endured the loss of his mother, or maybe it was something entirely just belonging to Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius, but Albus was always aware of the influence Mr. Malfoy held over Scorpius. The thing was, Albus strongly suspected that even if Mr. Malfoy didn’t like him he wouldn't use his influence to try to change Scorpius’s mind. Mr. Malfoy always put Scorpius’s needs first and Albus respected him for that. It was hard to explain to anyone, even himself, the strange closeness he felt with Scorpius’s and knowing that even if all they shared was their love of Scorpius it might be enough.

“Did you...um — did you need something?” Albus asked, fingers twitching in his pockets as he toyed with the loose strings he could feel beneath the tips of his fingers.

Mr. Malfoy smiled kindly and something tight in Albus began to untwist. “Scorpius tells me you’ve been having some trouble with your hair.”

Albus blinked, wondering if he’d been befuddled. “Erm—” he patted his hair. Trouble might be an understatement.

Mr. Malfoy looked like he was trying not to laugh. “I thought perhaps I could help.”

“You came over to help me with my hair?” Albus asked incredulously. He still felt entirely confused, despite Mr. Malfoy’s transparency. His own dad hadn't even offered. Granted, he didn’t actually fault his dad for that; he couldn't even tame his  _ own  _ hair.

Mr. Malfoy stood, crossing the room to stand in front of Albus. Albus was decently tall, just over six feet and he’d gotten used to being as tall if not taller than the people he stood next to, well except for Teddy. But Mr. Malfoy was a few inches taller than him and he felt the difference in that acutely as he turned his nose down and lifted his hand. “Can I?” he asked and Albus felt like he’d been spelled mute. He nodded his head and licked his lips.

Mr. Malfoy’s fingers were long like Scorpius’s, aristocratic and elegant and Albus wondered if Scorpius would look like this when he got older — dignified and handsome in a way that felt almost unreal. 

“Potter hair,” he muttered, twisting a few strands between his fingers before dropping them and lowering his hands to his side. “Did you know your grandfather invented Sleekeazy's hair care products?”

Albus nodded. “Fucking karma or something. At least that’s what my dad jokes. The man who invented something to tame even the wildest hair gave birth to a family of men whose hair couldn’t be tamed.”

Mr. Malfoy’s lip quirked up in the corner. “That’s because Potters are absolute shit at admitting when they need help. And you, Albus, need help. Sleekeazy’s is a marvelous product, for certain types of hair. But there are other products out there you know. There’s more than just the things stocked at the apothecary in Diagon Alley.”

Albus felt torn between annoyance — he fucking hated needing help — and gratefulness that someone was here to save him from his misery. If he had to admit he needed help, he supposed Mr. Malfoy was one of the better options. “I’ve tried everything.” Albus wrinkled his nose at the whiny tone of his voice after the words were out.

Mr. Malfoy, however, looked amused. “You haven’t tried  _ everything _ .” He pulled a small jar out of his robe pocket. The writing was in French and Albus had no idea what it was but he could guess it probably cost as much as a months rent.

“How do you know it’ll work?”

Mr. Malfoy looked thoughtful and his voice took on an edge of softness that Albus had only ever heard in his voice when he was speaking to Scorpius. “Do you trust me, Albus?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, unsure why the answer fell from his lips so easily.

Mr. Malfoy looked pleased. “Right, follow me then,” he said, walking down towards his and Scorpius’s bedroom as if the flat were his.

Albus tried to relax, but he wasn’t used to people who weren't Scorpius touching his hair. Mr. Malfoy, however, was surprisingly good at distracting him, talking about Scorpius as he coated his hands in the substance from the jar. His hands were confident as they moved through Albus’s hair and in a matter of minute’s the pile of hair on his head no longer resembled an angry pygmy puff and instead was full of body and purpose, the thick strands twisting up into an elegant swoop off to the side. Albus squeezed his eyes shut at the rush of emotions he felt. It was only hair, for fuck’s sake.

Mr. Malfoy cleared his throat. “Would you like me to leave?”

Albus shook his head and opened his eyes. “No, it’s just—”

“I quite understand, Albus.” His voice was compassionate, earnest.

Albus wanted to protest. He was so used to no one understanding him, no one but Scorpius. Even his family, who loved and accepted him exactly as he was, could never truly understand certain things about him — the way he’d always felt like a bit of an outsider, felt like he needed to prove his worth, the way he felt both prideful and defiant at having been a Slytherin. 

And yet it occurred to him now that perhaps Mr. Malfoy  _ did  _ understand. Perhaps he didn’t have to explain himself. Perhaps, there were a lot of reasons Scorpius was close to his father, not all of which had to do with blood.

“Do you think Scorpius will like it?” he asked suddenly, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

“I’m quite certain you could shave your head and Scorpius would still think you were perfect.”

Albus felt his cheeks heat, but he smiled through his embarrassment. “Then why’d you come to help me? My hair isn’t exactly a top priority.”

Mr. Malfoy looked thoughtful. “You make my son very happy, Albus.”

“He makes me happy too,” Albus offered honestly.

“I’m glad. But I’m not sure you understand.” Mr. Malfoy leaned back against the dresser and crossed his arms, watching Albus. “You make my son  _ happy _ . You are his world. I—” he paused looking unsure how to continue, “That makes you important to  _ me  _ as well, Albus. That makes you my family. Malfoy’s take care of their family.”

Albus swallowed, embarrassed at the tears he felt swelling behind his eyelids. Thankfully he was saved from answering by the sound of Scorpius walking into the room

“What’s going on?” Scorpius asked, glancing between Albus and his dad as he undid the buttons on his hideous green Healer robes.

“I was simply showing Albus the hair salve we discussed.” Albus watched the silent exchange between Mr. Malfoy and Scorpius with fascination; the way Scorpius’s eyebrows rose into his hairline and his lips thinned as he looked between his dad and Albus.

Scorpius looked curious but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he laid his robes across the end of the bed and walked towards Albus, slipping his arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your hair looks nice,” he whispered, breath warm and familiar against Albus’s throat.

“I should leave,” Mr. Malfoy began, but without thinking about it Albus reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

“You could stay,” he said, ignoring Mr. Malfoy’s surprised stare and Scorpius’s confused one. Albus had never minded being around Scorpius’s dad but he’d never once initiated the company on his own. “We could all...go out for dinner.”

Scorpius made a soft noise in the back of his throat, hiding his smile in Albus’s hair. “Brilliant idea, Al.”

“That would be delightful,” Mr. Malfoy answered, and the smile on his face was small and pleased. It reminded Albus of the way Scorpius had looked at eleven years old when he’d asked if Albus would be his friend — tentative and hopeful but somehow simultaneously prepared for impending rejection. 

It occurred to Albus then that perhaps he wasn’t the only one who’d been worried about being liked.

Perhaps he thought, he and Mr. Malfoy had more in common than just loving Scorpius.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious to see Albus's hair swoop, [check out this post by aibidil.](https://aibidil.tumblr.com/post/170437115537/xavier-dolan-as-albus-potter-fancast)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](http://goldentruth813.tumblr.com/) <3


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